The Masterpiece
by From Infinities Within
Summary: Edward Cullen is an artist. Bella Swan is his muse and she doesn't even realize it. What happens when Bella finds out Edward has been using her for his best paintings? AU AH Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: This is another idea I was messing with. I really like the idea and the direction it's been headed, but this chapter is short. So, you pretty much just get a taste of what I'm doing. I'm not exactly sure how far I'm going to go with this story. But, I'd like to test drive it. See what the general idea is. **

**Tell me what you thing. **

**Disclaimer: I'm not Stephenie Meyer.)**

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_**Prologue **_

Over the weeks I had isolated myself. I needed to get a painting done, and I had a deadline. The company that was holding the open art auction needed paintings to auction off. I stayed in my studio apartment day after day; I wouldn't let myself leave until I had at least one decent painting.

Ever since I was a child I'd loved things that had to do with the arts. I was a pianist; I played professionally in cabaret bars and such. It was a small job, and it was rare for me to get hired, but it was the only thing I could see myself doing. Painting was another thing.

In my spare time I painted in my apartment. I sold my paintings at art showings for a pretty penny. The money was good but it was coming in too slow to be considered productive.

My family didn't exactly support my life decisions. They wanted the best for me. My father had wanted me to go to med school and become a physician. He wanted me to get a good job and make a lot of money. My mother didn't particularly care, as long as I was happy.

I remember the very day I'd told my family my life plans. I had been so enthusiastic about it. My father didn't have the heart to break my spirits. He had wished me luck wasn't upset that I didn't want to be a doctor like him. He realized my dedication and determination at the piano bench and at the canvas were traits that would help me find my way. I'd heard too many times that its tough going for an undiscovered musician or artist.

Music. Art. Poetry. All of the most creative things were what I immersed myself in. I had loved learning a new bit of information about artists, composers and poets. I had become the know it all of all the things I loved. One of my favorite artists was Salvador Dali. His works were that of surrealism. Unlike every other person I know – I recognized Dali for more than just " The Persistence of Memory." I'd known just about every work of art the man had ever created. My favorite was "The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory."

When asked who my favorite artist was people were surprised that it was Dali. He was a strange and eccentric man, and some of his paintings were bizarre and quite a few of them were rather sexual. I favored him because he wasn't afraid of being eccentric or strange. He didn't care what people thought. That fact, and the fact that his art was amazing made him my favorite.

I stared out the studio apartment window and saw the same old scene, the busy Chicago streets bustling with people. This was the same scene I'd painted many times. The bus stop was empty which was strange for this time of day. It was usually crowded. I pondered drawing something to represent the loneliness but then I saw her.

She sat down at the bus stop. Obviously waiting for the four fifteen. When I set my gaze on her, nothing else mattered. The people busily scrambling the road like ants were far out of my mind and I was focused on this beauty one hundred and ten percent.

I captured the way her hair blew in the wind and how she squinted her eyes when a larger gust of wind came by. It was very cute. I painted her. Her blue jeans fit snugly on her legs and I made sure to capture the crease at her knee where her pants crumpled from being a little too long and I captured the lovely crimson on her cheeks.

Of everything I painted, she was my favorite.

Each rapid brushstroke of chestnut brown made the color of her hair. It wasn't exact, but I was fairly sure it was as close as I could get it. Even her lips, were a delicious pink, couldn't be re-created. It was simply impossible to find the exact colors. Like, the colors of her were her own. It was as if she herself made the colors exists. If not for her there would be no such colors. It was unique, and inspiring.

When I had just about finished my masterpiece, the bus came by and whisked away my muse. That was it. The rest I'd have to do from memory.

Then, a thought occurred to me. I'd never see her face again. How on earth would I be able to auction off this marvelous painting? I told myself that art wasn't about getting attached and hopefully that would be good enough. I may never see the painting again but I could always take a Polaroid of it so I had that along with the memory.

Another thought dawned on me.

My painting wasn't nearly as great as the original.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: Sorry for keeping you all waiting. I've been wicked busy. Here's the next chapter. I'm so happy with the response! Thank you all. **

**Disclaimer: I'm not Stephenie Meyer.)**

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Many inspiration-less days passed by me slowly. My best muse hadn't ever showed her face at the bus stop since the first and apparently last day I'd seen her. It was a shame and I wallowed in misery over the fact as I pulled on my best suit for the art showing.

I had no pride as I drove down the familiar road to the gallery. I was a sell out. I had become like every person that I loathed, the people who would sell their soul to pay their rent.

Sure, I was being a bit melodramatic. Selling a painting wasn't exactly the equivalent of selling your soul, but it was bad enough. I felt like a miserable sell out as I pulled into the parking lot of the art gallery. The show tonight would be grand.

I knew it would hurt to sell the painting. For some inexplicable reason I had felt some kind of strange tie to the woman I'd painted. It would hurt to give the painting of her up.

I was pretty sure if I'd ever met her that I'd ask her to marry me. I'd never been the type to jump into a relationship but as I stared at the painting, viewed her beautiful watercolor face I knew that she was meant for me.

It all seemed silly really – thinking about it. But, I had a sense of righteousness. I knew something about it was true. Maybe it was all that cheesy 'love at first sight' stuff. Huh. My whole life I'd thought only women believed in all that nonsense.

I got out of my car carefully taking the watercolor out of the trunk and brought it into the gallery. The moment I got there I hunted around the people for my boss.

I spotted him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Newton, I'm here with my painting." I said quickly.

Michael Newton turned on the heel of his shiny leather shoes and stared at me hard. "Edward. It's about time. I thought you were never going to finish that painting judging by your poky progress on it each time I called you." He gave me a dirty look and I tried as hard as I could to restrain myself from balling up my fist and punching him in the nose.

Mr. Newton was a bastard. More than that he was a total asshole but he was my employer and I'd been brought up to have the utmost respect for everyone, even if they were not so respectful to me.

"Yes, Well, I managed to finish." I spoke through my teeth as I took the protective cover off the painting. "What do you think?"

He stared at my painting hard for a moment, with a scrutinizing expression. "It's nice." He said simply with an obvious lack of interest. It made me even angrier.

"Thanks." I muttered.

Mike turned back around facing away from me for only a second speaking to the woman on his right, before turning back to me. "I just told Jessica to get Angela your assistant. Angela will show you where your painting will be showcased and she'll hang it for you." He spoke shortly and turned back away waving me off.

My blood boiled as it did every other time I was around the vile man but I simply balled up my fists and refused to let him get the best of me.

Shortly after I'd calmed down Angela showed up. She had her hair in wavy curls and was dressed in a short green mini dress. It was the best I'd ever seen her look. It was also the most boldly I'd ever seen her dress. Angela was always the quiet type. She barely spoke and wore a frightened expression most of the time.

"Hello, Mr. Cullen." She smiled at me speaking quietly and cautiously as if she were some kind of beaten child and I was her abusive father. It made me sad for her.

"Call me Edward, Angela." I smiled at her warmly trying to get the frightened expression to vanish off her face.

She smiled and nodded acknowledging my request. "Right this way, Edward. I'll show you where I'll be hanging your painting." She turned and walked off through the gallery and we passed a magnitude of pieces of art. They were all beautiful.

I stopped for a moment to look at a bronze sculpture of a telephone. It was cool because all the numbers were replace with letters instead that spelled out 'A Lonely man' in a semi circle. It was a rotary phone and it had to be one of the coolest things I'd seen in a while.

Out of the corner of my eye as I kept walking behind Angela I thought I'd seen my muse. I had to have imagined it though. I'd wanted to see her so bad and so my mind had imagined it. I suddenly became somewhat more sullen as I continued to walk behind Angela.

She stopped short and I nearly walked into her. "Right here, Edward. I'll take your painting now, feel free to browse now and if you need to come back to your painting you know where it is."

She smiled at me I quickly thanked her before setting off to find the beautiful woman. I walked back to where I thought I'd seen or imagined her. What ever it was and couldn't find her.

I pouted as I made a few rounds around the gallery. I looked down at my feet as I walked, finally abandoning hope. Then, the second my attention was diverted to my feet someone crashed right into me.

It was her. I was amazed as I caught her and held her up to keep her from hitting the ground. She blushed and apologized over and over again. She had a tight grip on the collar of my suit and I figured it was a reflex reaction to keep from falling.

I set her back on my feet and smiled at her. "Are you alright?" I asked her seriously, but still amused. I couldn't believe that I'd actually managed to find her. It was unbelievable.

"Yes. I'm fine. Thank you so much for catching me. I'm so clumsy." She smiled slightly but looked embarrassed, her cheeks colored with a deep shade of red.

"No worries, I'm actually glad." I smiled and then felt stupid. _I'm actually glad? Come on Edward. That may have been the stupidest thing you've ever said. _

She giggled. "So, savior, you have a name?" She asked somewhat shyly.

"Nope. I was born with out a name. My parents were lazy folk." I grinned at her. I was trying to tease to come back from my stupid remark.

I hadn't thought it possible for her blush to intensify but it did. "Oh, Well, I suppose that was a stupid question. Hello, man with no name, I'm Isabella. You can call me Bella." She grinned and held out her hand.

I took it and kissed the top of her hand like a gentleman. "Pleased to meet you, Bella. I'm Edward."


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N: I'm really surprised by the response to this story so far. Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. I never knew this story would get anywhere. It was just an idea I was messing with. Just so ya'll know, Edward is kind of a drama king.)**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Stephenie Meyer.**

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I was so ecstatic that I finally got to spend time with my muse. I had fallen in love with her the day I'd seen her sitting at the bus stop, her hair blowing in the breeze. Everything about her had seemed ideal. I knew there had to be some reason for all of it. I had seen her for a reason. I'd always been one of those people who believe that everything happened for a reason.

I was rather eager to show her the painting. I wasn't sure how she'd take it, but judging what I already knew about her, she'd like it.

She and I were walking around and evaluating the pieces that were in the show when we finally got to my painting of her. My nameplate wasn't on it yet so no one knew that I was the painter.

When we got to the area I pointed it out. "Oh, god. Look at that Bella! I'm fairly sure that is the most beautiful painting I'd ever seen." I smirked slightly.

As she looked at the painting I saw her face go from amused to horror struck. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. "That looks just like me." She whispered. "I was sitting at the bus stop a few days ago, wearing the same thing. That's _me_." Then her expression changed to anger.

I didn't understand. Wouldn't she be honored that someone would find her beautiful enough to put in a painting? Wouldn't she be happy that someone captured her beauty -even if only a small fraction – and put it into a painting? Why was she upset? I didn't understand.

Bella kept up her rant about the piece. "Look, Edward. It looks like someone painted it from…a building. Look at the angle of that! Some pervert painted me from their apartment. I don't know what to think of that. Is the creeper who painted this in here Edward?" She asked me in a panic.

I was to hurt to really put any expression into my answer and I felt that my face had fallen from once happy to hurt. I wasn't surprised when my voice came out sounding upset. "Yes, Bella. All the painters are here."

She shuddered frowning. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel good about that or if I'm supposed to be freaked out." She cried in sheer stress. I didn't understand why she'd take it this way.

Art was about capturing beauty. I worked so hard on that painting. I spent hours trying to capture the proper essence of her. I spent hours perfecting each detail. I dreamt that one day I'd meet the woman who caused such a painting and show her. Hell, if she liked it I would have ripped if off the wall this very second for her.

But she didn't. She thought I was a pervert. Though she didn't know it was me, I'm sure she would have been creeped out just the same.

Then, came the moment where I was unsure of what to do. I wasn't sure if I should tell her that I painted it, or simply keep it from her. I barely knew the woman but I already felt a strong connection to her. I wanted to get to know her and I feared that if I told her, she wouldn't want to get to know me.

My whole life, art had been special. If I painted someone, they didn't need to know. They were my muse. They had inspired me to express them and myself through art. It had never occurred to me that someone could be disturbed about that. I'd always captured people in an honest way. If a fat woman was fat, I painted her fat. In Bella's case, she was beautiful. Strikingly so. She almost made a liar out of me. I felt it nearly impossible to capture every detail of her beauty. I struggled in ways I never had before.

I was also true to my art. I decided it was best to simply not tell Isabella. I knew that she'd be fretting about the painting the rest of the evening though. I wanted to get to know her, but I didn't want it to be like this. When I pictured showing the piece to my dream girl, I never pictured it being this way. I pictured her smiling, touched that someone could make such an attempt to portray her beauty through watercolors.

I was upset to say the least. Isabella had wounded my pride. My ego. However, the pull I felt to her still incredible. I decided that I wanted to stay here with her, regardless of the fact that she was not pleased about my art.

I looked at Bella. She stood by my side simply staring at the painting. Her gaze was intent. Something that I'd have to paint when I got home. I couldn't let what occurred this night to stop me from creating another masterpiece.

"Bella. Want to go have a look at some other paintings?" I asked her breaking the silence that had been between us for quite some time.

She detached her gaze from the painting and looked at me, her expression going from worried back to calm. "I'd like that." She smiled slightly but I could tell her mind was elsewhere, and I knew exactly where it was.

The rest of the evening Bella and I examined other pieces of art with no conflict until she asked me what I had entered in the showing. I couldn't very well tell her that I had created the masterpiece that she seemed to loathe so much so I simply stuck to being evasive about the topic.

I shrugged. "I'm an amateur. My art isn't really worth seeing." I told her when the topic came up. She seemed to sense that I really didn't want her to see my painting and dropped the subject.

When it came time to leave, I was almost proud of myself. I kept Bella from seeing the painting after my nameplate was on it.

We stood by a golden sculpture of some sort as we were saying goodbye.

"Am I going to see you again, Edward?" She asked me in a quiet tone. Her wide eyes like a doe, as she stared up at me in what I determined to be a hopeful gaze.

"I'm here every week." I had already had her hand in mine so I pulled it to my lips and gently kissed it. "Until next time, beautiful Bella." I said simply as I released her hand and turned and walked out of the gallery.

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That night when I had returned to my apartment I decided it was time to relax. I let the events of the night evade me as I slumped into my armchair in front of the television.

My vision blurred and I knew I was about to fall asleep. But, just my luck the phone rang making me nearly jump out of my skin. I opened my bleary eyes and reached for it. Caller ID told me it was Angela.

"Hello?" I said in a somewhat groggy voice. My tone was thick with sleep, though I hadn't slept.

"Edward! I'm so sorry if I bothered you. I wanted to tell you that your painting was sold tonight! Someone paid quite a hefty price for it, too."

"Really? That's great!" I was extremely happy. After Bella's reaction I wasn't sure if anyone would buy the painting. "Can you give me any information?"

"Uh. All I can tell you is that she's a woman. She didn't say her name or anything. She wants her reasoning for the painting confidential and she also didn't want to share any personal reasoning."

"Oh." It was a curious situation to me.

"Well, that's all I wanted to tell you, Edward." Angela said in a very pleasant tone. "Go back to sleep now."

That night I dreamt of Bella, my painting and a woman in a mask.


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N: I'm feeling like it's time to begin writing again and I'm going to try to update far more often. I'm so sorry for keeping everyone waiting. **

**However, when you are waiting for me, I'd like to recommend an author to you. **

**I am not Stephenie Meyer but if I were, I'd write another story!) **

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I had been going through my own sort of blue period. I was depressed and temperamental. I hadn't talked to my parents all week, I hadn't picked up the phone and I hadn't even talked to my assistant, Angela when she called. I called her once. Got her voicemail and said this: "I'll be at the gallery this weekend with more work. Don't try to contact me." Though I warned her, she didn't listen and therefore, I had tons of voicemails.

I wasn't entirely sure what caused my depression. I felt like it was the weight of Angela's phone call the night of the showing. When Bella had made it clear the "creeper who painted her" freaked her out. Someone else had bought the painting. But, it was meant for Bella. Though she hated it, it was meant for her. I painted it and though I didn't know her at the time my heart knew that one way or another she'd have it. I failed myself.

The sense of self-worthlessness caused me my blue period. My inspiration was as dry as the sponge on my kitchen sink, which sat untouched and hard. I had barely eaten anything. I barely slept. Every hour I pushed myself to create another masterpiece something that I loved. Something that meant something to me. I painted everything. I painted the dry hard sponge, I painted the cold, wet, windy city, and I even tried to paint my feelings. Nothing worked.

Until Thursday night.

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_Swirling blues pass me as I fall from the sky. I see myself in the reflection of the plastic-y looking sky. It's like I'm falling through a tunnel. The sky condensed in a funnel shape opening up to an endless oblivion. I reach out to touch the sky and though I expect to feel something like the texture of saran wrap, I feel nothing. I feel what the sky should feel like._

_Wind blows my hair back from my eyes and everything is impossibly clearer. Abruptly, the falling stops and I land in the lap of a woman in a large, Victorian bright red dress. The contrast is so immense to that of my blue surroundings. I almost can't believe it. She's wearing a mask. All I can see is her full pink lips and her perfect white smile. She didn't even react as if I was there. She sat motionless. The only indication of life in her body was the small smile adorn on her lips. _

_I stare at her for a moment and climb out of her lap. I sit on the bench next to her. That's when I realize where she is. Seated at the bench I first saw Bella at. The bus stop. But the city is dead and silent. Not a soul but the two of us exist. _

_She opens her mouth as if to speak. To utter a single explaining sentence yet just as fast as her full lips move to speak, they close like she didn't want to speak. "May I take off your mask?" I find myself saying. I hadn't realized I was about to speak until after the words were out. She opened and shut her mouth again as if she wanted to talk once again but couldn't make herself. Instead she just nodded. _

_I finally got a good look at the cream colored mask that was on her face. It was studded with silver diamonds that took the reflection from the rich azure sky. I feel my hands slowly reaching for her mask and slowly peeling it off. I am not surprised after discarding the mask to see her beautiful chocolate eyes staring right back at me. I am not at all surprised to see the face of Bella. _

"_I think I love you." I say to her out of nowhere. I have no filter on my mouth. But, I see her smile. She suddenly unfreezes. Her motionless body turns to the side and her red dress makes a strange sound as it crinkles with her movement. Her beautiful lips turn into a smile. _

"_I don't know what it is about you." She says in her beautiful bell-like voice. "But, I think I love you too." _

_I woke with a start. My dream had been so strange but amazing and that was the perspective at which I painted Bella. Sitting beside her on the bench. I painted her face, I painted the mask, falling to the ground and I painted the strange blue sky beyond her face. I painted the pink smile on her lips and her pearly white teeth. I painted my heart._

_I was falling for Bella._

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Saturday night I brought my painting collection from the blue dream to the gallery. It was already busy and I was early. I just hoped Bella wouldn't see me handing my painting off to get hung. Though she didn't like being the subject of a painting, I couldn't resist hanging her in the gallery. She was the easiest thing for me to capture. She was the essence of beauty and I loved that. I handed my painting in to Angela and requested that my name plaque didn't get hung. I'd rather not risk Bella seeing that I was the one who painted it.

I was euphoric. I felt as though my best masterpiece hung on the walls of the gallery. Mike was even pleased with it, and it was often very hard to please Mike Newton. He was the most miserable person to work with ever. I hated him with a passion but painting was something I loved to do, so I frequently swallowed my distaste for him and just did what he said.

After circling the gallery a few times, I found something that caught my eye. It was a silver piece. It was crafted mostly out of metal and it was shaped as a baby grand piano. I'd always loved the piano. I took lessons when I was a small child – something my mother Esme enrolled me in, but I never once protested. I loved the beauty of being able to replicate and intricate piece of music as though I was the one who wrote it. I loved being able to get the dynamics just right. I loved the smooth ebony and ivory keys beneath my fingertips. I thought for a while that I was going to be a musician.

I stared at the artwork for a long while. I decided that if it was not purchased by the end of the night that I would make it my own. I was turning away when I realized I never saw who created it. I never read the nameplate. Just as I was turning around to look at it – so I could figure out whom to compliment, a pair of small, warm hand suddenly covered my eyes. I heard a beautiful giggle.

"Guess who?" The bell voice chimed in my ear.

I couldn't help the smile that was on my face as I took her hands from my eyes and turned around. "Bella." I said cheerfully, still holding her hands. "I wasn't sure that I was going to see you here again."

"Well, here I am." She grinned back at me and looked down at out intertwined hands. A crimson blush covered her cheeks and I carefully dropped her hands.

"It's so good to see you here again."


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